


Names and How to Use Them

by rosecat13, thecolorofstars



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecat13/pseuds/rosecat13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecolorofstars/pseuds/thecolorofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after Lucky gifted Miller with knives, they have a chat, and then a bit more.<br/>@StrexAgent13 and @Strexceptionist</p><p> </p><p>Twittervale Canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names and How to Use Them

It's been a wonderful day, even though Lucky can feel the frustration radiating off of Miller from his meager office. Lucky has no idea why he even has an office; he spends no time in it anyway. He's too busy going off on outings and flirting and making out with Miller's girlfriend and the girl he killed that was brought back to life in the break room, and then watching them make out.

So Lucky slings his suit-jacket over his shoulder, pressed shirt snow white against the golden tie around his neck. He should be passing by Miller right about now. God he needs to loosen up.

But Miller isn't in his chair. He hasn't been in his chair since Lucky stood up, ready to go home for the night. What would an agent like Lucky do at home anyway? Well, apparently he just looks up files that he has no business searching through. They're not private files, not by a long shot, but Miller has spent many days hiding them twenty folders down and under two password locks.

It is because of this that he is standing, ready to catch golden tie and spin him, slamming him into the wall. One of the new knives - the ones that he _knows_ Lucky bought for him - is pressed against his neck immediately. He could roll his hips just so and lead them down a different road, but the anger in his eyes says that things aren't headed that way right now.

Lucky's genuinely surprised. He's slammed into the wall and perhaps for a quarter of a second his eyes are all shock, but then they relax, and he relaxes. Oh Miller is close~ oh this could be fun.

Metal rests against his neck. Oh this could be even _more_ fun.

Lucky lets out a low, sexy-sounding growl, "You're faster than you look, old timer." Miller isn't THAT old. But it ought to get his blood pumping. Lucky licks his lips, "What's up, sugarplum?"

For once, Miller ignores the names; ignores the poking and prodding. Lucky isn't going to take him seriously, he can tell it as soon he feels the tension drain out of him. He isn't a threat, not to a young cocky agent, and it's no surprise. The muscles from years ago haven't disappeared, but they've been hidden by the layers of fat that come when he stopped caring enough to get up for a morning run, if he even slept at all. That's fine.

"How did you get to those files?" How did you know, Lucky, you smartass? How did you find out?

"Files?" Lucky smiles, just slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about. I wouldn't dare break into Strex property. I don't... steal files. Or if they were digital, I'm no hacker."

He bats his eyelashes at Miller. It's funny because it was true. He'd done a bit of digging around in fairytales in training. History was a bit intriguing to him. He wanted to know. Understand. Pick apart. Things were easier to destroy when you knew how they worked.

The head agents at camp had talked about what happened when Strexcorp started up, Agents, some of the top ones, but not QUITE good enough, were shuffled off to desk jobs, "temporarily". Ha. And Miller, as he had discovered, was one of them. It hadn't been hard to figure it out. His skill, shapr eyes, hands, and tongue. The bittnerness of it all. The look of a body that used to be something but now was... not nearly what it once was.

If Lucky was the sympathetic type, he'd feel sad for him. But he wasn't.

"Maybe I just know the right things to say to the right people," he purrs. He lifts his hips a bit to match them against Miller's. "I've talked my way into four people's pants since I got here, what, a week and a few days ago?"

Miller’s brow furrows. No, files would be giving him way too much credit. The asshole speaks true for now, it's highly likely that all he did was snoop around and ask a few people a few questions. It's hard to say who knows the truth, but he could probably have talked his way through the higher ups.

He knew those people. Not just their numbers because things weren't all numbers back then, not between the agents. The whole lot of them had been at the top together. Five friends, five numbers, five names. Somewhere along the line someone had felt threatened. It was a good excuse to fill empty white collar jobs with the lesser agents, but it was obvious to them all. Five agents, none of them all that bad, all close together?

Well.

He hadn't been the best at any skill. Nothing he did really stood out to them, but damn if he wasn't good at being two-faced. Walked to his new job with a smile and threw knives into his new apartment wall that night.

He bites back his reaction and pushes closer to Lucky, forcing him flat with a knee between his legs.

"Who did you talk to?"

Nhh~" Lucky just grins, tilting his head back even more and feeling the knife scrape against the soft flesh of his neck. "Mh~ that's it Miller, play dirty with me~" his eyes nearly close. Fuck that's nice. He grinds against the knee and lets out a low groan.

There is no winning with this idiot. He pulls the knife away and presses his forearm against Lucky's throat. That groan, that almost jokingly desperate roll against his knee, they both send shivers down his spine that he fights. They can play this game later, right now he wants to add to his hit list.

"Who. Did. You. Talk. To?"

"Mh..." Lucky remembers to keep his breathing even and looks Miller lazily in the eyes. "You're so hot when you're angry." He hooks a leg around Miller's waist and presses against him more, still grinding. Hell if he thought Miller had the strength, he'd let him fuck him against the wall with his legs around the man's waist. God that was a hot image. He bet Miller's cock would feel great against his ass right now. Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great.

"You should fuck me hard. Maybe you can get it out of me that way."

The suggestion does not go unpondered on Miller’s end, nor completely unwanted. Now they're close enough that just the contact between them is a turn on and if Lucky shifted his leg he would be having an even harder time forcing his point. Yes, he could fuck him hard and fast, but there would be no answers in that. "I'm not playing these games with you right now, you little shit," he spits. "You want me to fuck you? Fine. Answer my goddamn questions first."

All Lucky can can think is: Ew. Gross. Turn off. He sighs, "Fine, fine. We don't have to fuck." He quickly uses both palms to hit Miller in the chest, propelling the man backwards, sliding his leg down to the man's ankle to trip him. The senior agent goes down and Lucky grins. "I can just go home."

Miller sets his lips in a hard, disappointed from the ground, palms stinging from the impact, and closes his eyes. He was trained to take no shit and accept no excuses. Then he was trained to smile from a desk and say "my pleasure" because it sounds better than "you're welcome." Nobody ever told him how to deal rookies that doesn't know where the line is drawn.

"If you decide you're going to go home right now, I can have you taken out within the week. Before you start on about your skills, I don't mean have you killed. I can rip everything away from you and sit you down at a damn desk on the fifth floor. You'll be filing papers for the rest of your pathetic life. In ten years, you can hold a knife to some asshole's throat and wonder where the hell they got our name out of an old story."

 "Mmm~" Lucky crouches, surveying the man on the ground. He looks good like that. Really good. "Alright. Let's make a deal then. No need for people to be unhappy, after all." He straddles Miller. "I can make you feel real nice. I'm not going anywhere." His hips drag along Miller's crotch. Come on Miller~ grab my ass, RISE to the occasion, do something~, "Besides, Miller, if I was put at a desk job... well. I'd bring out the guns. Kill an upper. You know. Do something ruthless... dangerous~" He looks rather deep in thought, seriously considering these things. It doesn't seem too outlandish by Lucky's standards.

"And, Miller, you're so harsh~ I like you better hard." He smiles down at him. "Tell me about it, stud~"

Miller's hands scrunch up against the carpet and his eyes stay closed, refusing to open so he can refuse to slice Lucky open bit by bit. "If you don't think I tried, then you clearly haven't met me." It wasn't her fault that he got angry, but at least she survived it.

He would love to flip him and have him right on the floor, right there where anyone - even their CEO - could walk out and see. This come first. He can feel himself bulge in his pretty boy dress pants, the ones that he hated to fold, and wonders how long Lucky will keep this up.

"That doesn't sound like a deal," he says, voice strained.

"I don't know," Lucky leans down and nips up the man's neck, "Put the knife down, Miller~ no need for that~ I'm putty in your hands," he emphasizes that with another delicious roll of his hips. Oh Miller is his his his _his_ at the moment. No one could deny, if they saw them right now, that Lucky was ahead, above, and ready fuck the man into the ground.

Look at him, with his eyes shut and hands in the carpet, what a sweet little thing. "Let's just play tame for now, Miller~" he lowers his voice to a whisper as he nips over the shell of his coworkers ear, "You can scar me up real nice later if you want to, add to my raised welt repertoire~" purrs against his skin, "make a mark on my body that'll never go away~" he nips again, "Wouldn't that be nice, Miller~?"

Oh, it would. It would be so perfect to watch the blood well up under his blade and see the scabs, the scars. He nearly gives a moan at the though, but bites it back to a short grunt. If he is going to command any answers, he needs to gain some sort of anything here. Whether it helps or not, the handle of his knife feels wonderful as it smashes into Lucky's temple.

"NnH!" Lucky clutches his head as he falls to the side, gritting his teeth. Temple was a kill spot. He's probably another bad hit away from an epidural hematoma. He's a bit dizzy. Fuck, fuck, what was he thinking just a moment ago? He blinks and tries to right himself but it’s not quite working.

Miller presses him down, watching him struggle from the blow. It was too hard, really, and there were better ways to accomplish what he wanted to do, but Lucky deserves it, for everything he has done… and everything he will still do. "Stay with me," he murmurs, adjusting his hold. "It wasn't that bad, you baby."

 Lucky breathes and blinks up at Miller. Oh hello up there. His erection strains, and fuck, he'd really like that pounding that 42 promised about now. "I'm not goin' anywhere," He cracks a crooked smile up at Miller, "You don't have to worry about me, sweetheart~"

Good," Miller replies without a hint of happiness in his voice. "I don't have an answer yet. Who told you?" He realizes that this has become a sort of competition now. If Lucky answers, Lucky will lose, and if he lets go before he gets an answer, he will lose. He can see how much Lucky would appreciate some more friction about now, so he holds his legs down and keeps a pair amount of distance between Lucky's pelvis and his own.

Lucky lies with the easy talent that he has, "The safeguards for your little secret files aren't nearly as strong as you think they are, Miller~" His breaths come easier, "But you'd kill someone over telling little old me some ancient number?" he grins, and it's a soft, injured thing. "Must be a big deal. Especially considering how much me and them have in common. I feel like I can relate strongly to them." He smiles, "Like fairytale heroes, right Miller?"

Fairytale heroes don't exist. He knows this well, but it's a lesson best learned in its own time. "I don't think you understand correctly." A calm has settled over him now that he is above Lucky, now that he can have control of this one thing for the moment. "There isn't a person alive who should remember anything about that. They made sure of it. I remember four people and three of them are dead. The rest of them know as much about me as I do about them, that was the /point/." Yes, he is pissed, but /who knows?

Lucky's walking on thin ice and he knows it, but he sticks with his story. "Files, remember?" he murmurs to him, like it's a secret, or a prayer. "Hidden deep in the bureaucracy... where they aren't supposed to ever be found. Never destroyed for the sake of having."

 

He doesn't try to fight back with his fists. This is a game of wits. He can convince Miller. He can do this.

"I'm a bit insulted that you don't think I could get past a bit of clever encryption... I can find lots of things. I know lots of things."

He doesn't smirk. He lets his false talents hang in the air, "I'm also a bit upset you didn't see through my first ruse. What are the odds of me running into one of you before, when most are dead, m...?" He tilts his head, softly, to the right. "It was just some words on a screen. I thought I could tease you. Obviously... not the case. So let me up. I'll head home, you'll head home, we'll both beat off in our respective residences, you'll try to forget about this encounter with your old life, and we'll both move on."

It's a good lie. It's smooth like silk and Lucky is attaching way too much hope to it.

Miller can't help himself, he laughs. At first it's a chuckle, but then he's just laughing silently, shoulders shaking and face hidden. When he meets Lucky's eyes again - and they are so, so green - he isn't smiling. "Could you? Could you really get through weeks, hell, years of bored work without the passwords? Could you guess every single one of them without any help at all?”

He doubts it.

"I want a name and if you don't have one I want a number." It isn't a question this time. His grip doesn't loosen. He jams a knee up, almost hard enough to be painful, but rubs it against him. "Will you give me another name? Because I won't just go home to forget."

You don't just forget something like this.

"A-aahnn..." It's rough and Lucky drinks it up. Shit. At the end of the day, Miller was 8. Fuck it was such a turn on. Legendary SCS Agent was rubbing a knee between Lucky's legs. Fuck it was hot. Hot hot hot.

He had to forfeit. If he pressed, odds are Miller would drive the other end of the knife into his temple. After all, he wasn't that great of an Agent (yet) or a person (ever). He bites his lip and rolls his hips against the friction, "Gabriel," he breathes, "Early training."

It was no secret that he thought Gabriel had been the crème de la crème of the elite five. Hard, cold, and functioning. Perfect. But someone had seen through the ice.

He'd been in training... what. Three years? When he began, Gabriel was still around. Well. He wasn't anymore.

 "It would be him," Miller mutters with a voice that carries no emotion nor further connotation. Gabriel would have been the one to assign numbers back then. Miller was around then too; confined to a desk, but still trying to stay active. It couldn't have been long after Freya died. He would have known, would have found some insufferable asshole who would be sure to do the number proud. He wonders... well, he wonders a lot of things. That's not what he needs to think about at the moment. Right now he needs to pay Lucky back for the information he's given. His knee grinds up again as he crushes their lips together.

Lucky moans into the kiss. Fuck, he hadn't expected this. he hadn't expected for Miller to actually follow through. He should give the man his due. He was 08 after all. "Are you mad?" He asks as his hands start tearing Miller's shirt off his back. "I got a number that I don't deserve."

"I can't make that judgment," Miller states simply, standing and offering Lucky his hand. It would have been Freya's call and if Gabriel had decided to give the number away then there was a good reason. He shakes his head. "We are not doing this right here. I don't care where we go, but Kevin never left. Where are we going?"

"M..." He takes it, letting Miller pull him up. He wraps his arms around the man's neck, "You know," he murmurs, "What I said still stands. You're SO hot when you're angry. And that knife? Mrr~"

Now Miller's playing into it for Lucky's pleasure, but it isn't like he minds. "Where. Are we. Going." The knife's edge dances along his skin, begging him for a reason to dig in. He wants those reasons to hurry up.

 Lucky growls again, playful. It's like the danger of Miller attacking him never existed, like Lucky just flipped a switch and everything was back to normal.

"We can go to my place if you like." He brushes away the knife and nuzzles into the older man, "Oh mister strong, elite Agent, won't you carry me off to bed~?" he's all tease. Like Miller could carry him home.

Miller rolls his eyes and swipes the knife down, catching just the slightest bit of skin on Lucky’s forearm through his cheap shirt and causing blood to well up in a miniscule cut. He slips the knife into the carrying case with the rest and draws Lucky to him with a kiss. It isn't too hard to scoop him up and carry him at least to the car as the sky turned from mauve to violet.

Lucky grins when Miller lashes out a bit and then is surprised (and pleased again) when he is carried. Well. This was new. He makes himself content to sit in Miller's arms. Strange, yes. Unpleasant? Not completely.

But he isn't going to get attached to this feeling, or used to it. Miller's a lot more dangerous than everyone thought he was. He's a bit more vicious, and much more ambitious. Yet, Lucky finds himself murmuring, "If you asked me, I'd kill someone so you could get a field position," as he rubs a finger down the man's neck, "Maybe do some sweet-talking on your behalf."

Now that sounds like fun. Infiltrating the bureaucracy, messing shit up, twisting knives, taking names, making a name for himself.

Miller drops him in the passenger seatwhen they reach the car and his arms thank him for the break. He's out of shape and tired, but he has the stamina for this at least. Once they're both in he replies to Lucky's kind (and naïve) offer.

"Ten years ago I would have given you anything. It's been too long now. I couldn't go back out there, they'd murder me alive. I've gotten better at twisting people around from a desk. Maybe that's where my specialty always was." He shrugs. not putting much thought to it. "If power was the goal, I'm closer than I ever would have been."

The drive is short and he doesn't offer to carry him again, instead locking the car behind him and wandering up the stairs, waiting for Lucky to hurry up.

 And he does indeed hurry up. He skips up the stairs, unlocks the door, and then scoops Miller into his strong arms. "Well then~ I suppose I'll just have to carry you." He isn't trying for romance, but fuckbuddies was something to aspire to. Lucky  carries him to the queen sized bed, "So, I hope you can fuck me in the ass sufficiently, legendary 08. I've been hoping that your nice thick cock would go well in my ass." He grins as he strips off his pants, climbing onto the bed and shaking his hips in Miller's direction.

Miller tells himself that he’ll convince Lucky not to call him by his number later, but for now it at least has him above the level of "used up drunk fuck." When he stands up and strips he's slower, drawing everything out to see how impatient Lucky will get. "Lube and condom?" he asks only once he's fully undressed. "If you can find them I'll see what I can do."

Lucky tuts softly. Not much of a striptease. Damn. He busies himself with pulling the condom and lube out of the nightstand drawer and setting them on the bed. Lucky lounges back like he's a delicious dish ready to be taken (accurate) and casually crosses his legs, hands behind his head. "I'm ready for you, Miller~ come and make me feel real good~ bring your knife. I want to feel how dangerous you are."

Miller bends over to grab one of his knives with a chuckle. "You're such a cocky little brat that part of me just wants to make you sit here and watch," he says as he climbs onto the bed. The thought isn't a bad one, but there was a sort of informal deal here and... well, if Lucky is going to ask to be fucked, he isn't going to say no. He crossed his legs, so Miller sits back and taps his knee with the tip of his knife too gently to make a mark.

Lucky chortles and spreads his legs for Miller and grins. "Mmm... I am a cocky little brat, but look where it's gotten me~" he bats his eyelashes.and smiles to Miller. "I mean I can't help it. Everyone just reinforces my bad, bad behavior. I've gotten cut down a few times but hey~ it ain't all bad. I usually end up seducing them anyway." He leans back and hooks a leg around Miller, his hell rubbing the man's back.

Miller smirks back, pushing the foot away. Every brat needs to be forced to wait from time to time. "I could leave, you know," he says with a careless shrug. "I could just go home or even to Vanessa's place. Fuck her instead. Teach you a lesson." He trails the knife up across Lucky's chest lightly and watches it, paying no attention to the actual man above him.

“I don't think Vanessa would appreciate you carving her up," he lilts, near lyrical. "I'm okay for a little bit of abuse. And I've wronged you, haven't I?" he looks at him, and maybe his face falls just a bit. "I've been a a bad little agent and-" he cracks up, "oh my god I can't even finish it."

“Good," he laughs. "That was the most porno-typical thing I've ever heard and you need to never say it again." Slowly, he moves to back away. "Vanessa might not mind, you know. If she did I could put the knife away. Have a bit of fun with her in other ways." The knife stops tracing spirals over 13's skin. Miller pulls back. This agent's reactions are always the most interesting - if potentially disappointing - that he's ever seen.

"She might like other ways," 13 tilts his head, eyes looking up at the corner of the room, "But... I'm good with anything, and everything." He sits up a little bit. His heels rest comfortably on the plush duvet and he looks back at Miller.

His eyes are near-glazed. "I can do anything you want me to." There's a knowing look in his eyes, like he's said it a million times before.

"That's nice to know," Miller smirks, sitting back. It's an offer, one that he will gladly take, but maybe later. There will be a later if he plays his cards right. "I'd love to see what you can do." His smirk grows as he leans in, keeping contact at a minimum and his knife just too far from Lucky's skin. "But tell me now, Lucky... what do _you_ want?"

Lucky smiles. It's gentle, and it doesn't sit right on his face. It looks wrong and it doesn't pull at his lips in the way it usually does. "What a strange question." He smiles, and it just looks all wrong.

"Cut me up, Miller." He arches his back until his stomach grazes the blade, "Spill my blood over the bed and help me make a mess of myself."

“Gladly. After all, these new blades are too lovely to waste." The first cut he makes is meaningless and shallow, just a slight press of the blade into Lucky's stomach. He kisses him as pulls the knife away and runs the flat side of it along his shoulder. "I almost wonder if you planned this when you put them on my desk."

 "Like I ever plan ahead," he murmurs into the air, "Don't you know that I'm just off the cuff? Lie here, lay someone there..." he lets a small grin show, "You could make me bleed out, and I think that I would consider it worth it. What are we, now, but meat and blood ready to be spilled?" He lets his blood dribble down and he drags his finger along the wound, lifting it to his lips and tasting. "M... I know I sound absolutely high-and-mighty but... isn't it wonderful, to be mortal?"

This is much more fun than a rushed drunken fuck in Miller’s opinion. Lucky is different this time around; less demanding and far more interested in... well, everything. Miller bites his chin. "Oh, it's wonderful. Just think about it, I could stick this knife into your throat right now and watch you drown." He moves the blade to Lucky's neck, watching it scrape along stubble. The next thin cut, even more shallow than the last, is made between his tendons. It is short and barely bleeds. Hardly even a tease.

"Hmn," Lucky considers this and his throat tightens at the soft glint of steel and sting of metal against his throat, "Want to give me gills?" he asks. He silently thanks whatever demon that decides who's good at the bad things that he's adept at lying, adept at acting. Thank whatever demon it was that keeps him alive.

No. No. He keeps himself alive. Lucky should have gotten Miller drunk or at least tipsy first, but he'd been foolish. Lucky tilts his head for Miller, "Lovely."

Miller hums and considers it. Without saying a word, he digs the tip into the side on Lucky's neck and cuts a straight line, this one deeper than the others. He cuts another below it and rubs a thumb over both of them. The blood smears under his fingers. If he wanted to, he could end Lucky's life right then and there. 13 would be done in by a knife yet again. It is tempting.

"Ahn," Lucky grits his teeth and his neck tenses. More cuts. More scars. There aren't many blades that make it up his neck and the deep spiderwebbing of white lines and blotches from wounds long past trickle until they are no more when it comes to his clavicles. But these? Maybe the deeper ones will leave scars.

It'd be wise to bandage his neck right now but Lucky figures that if he loses a pint it won't be the end of the world. He feels Miller's fingers press against the open wound, "Since we'll be getting bloodied up together, now's a better time to ask than any. You have any unsavory diseases I should know about?"

Miller has to admire that question. So many people wouldn't think to ask. He certainly didn't. His fingers are already covered in blood, but he could clean them off if need be. There would be other ways to have fun. "No, I wouldn't have cut you up if I did. While we're talking about it, do you?"

No." he shrugs. "It was just appropriate to ask." He silently admires Miller's form of trust and at the same time, wonders if this sort of "respect" is real. Respect for others' bodies. Respect for others' minds. Or if it was just all "ally" "pawn" "enemy".

He looks at the undecided piece in front of him. Not everyone thought like he did. But still. It was important to consider it.

"I don't want to lose more than a quart," he says. "A pint would be... preferable. But I know how these things go."

Miller hums again, watching the blood drip from the side of the younger man’s neck. Lucky will be needing new sheets after this, but... well, not his apartment. Not his concern. "I'm not the best at judging, will you be able to tell me when to stop?" Head wounds probably aren't the best idea for minimal loss, but arms... legs... oh, there are things he can play with still.

Lucky gives him a lazy look, "No. You're 08. I'm just a greenhorn. You tell me." He challenges the man and rests his hands on his neck. He comes away with a red palm, and makes a handprint on the bedsheet. "My life on your hands, Miller."

With a snort, Miller sets his knife to the back of Lucky's hand. The cuts on his neck can be evened out later. He doesn't press the blade into the skin yet, instead looking up at Lucky. It's hard to tell if he's turned on by this or if he's simply interested in watching the blood drip. "You'd put your life in the hands of an agent that wasn't good enough to work?" he asks, now pressing the blade into the skin lightly. The scarring is a bit thinner here and much easier to cut. "They put me at a desk and you'd hand me your life." He chuckles and finishes carving a circle.

"Of course I am," he smiles, twisting the knife to carve a few smaller circles and lines. "And if you would hand your life off so easily then it makes me wonder how suitable you are to be an agent. Maybe you shouldn't have that number after all. Just go back to using your name." Miller lets himself relax just a little bit. This isn't a fight anymore. If his hips brush against Lucky's then it will be a nice bit of pleasure, not a loss. Plus, he still holds that card. That name. It might not be a big card or a good one, but it is one that Lucky won't expect.

"I like 13. And self-worth isn't really invited in Strex, is it? It's a byproduct of being human, Status. Prestige. Numbers, now. Symbols of longevity and priviledge, because we have so very little to value. We do not value ourselves," he tells Miller. He speaks easily and honestly, "We only value our honor. Correction: most of us only value our honor. And honor is the same as prestige and power, it comes in forms of beauty and prestige, it is moving up the ladder, it's getting the better of a coworker, it's carving your favorite patterns into someone else's skin."

He pauses.

"But it is not encouraged by Strex. Strex wants hive-mind. All around. Inside. Remember?" He cracks his neck with a sharp swing of his jaw, three vertebrae popping. "It does not value individual worth. It does not want employees working for themselves. It wants employees working to better Strex. And, of course... I hold no value in myself. This scarred body. This number. It's just the flesh-suit that makes me able to work. The mindset that allows me to advance." He blinks, "I am perfect for Strex, in that way. A match made in Hell. It is my conquest. But I do not work to better my power or position. And why I do it, truly, is... of no consequence."

Miller has to pause at that. This cocky little agent, the one that acted like we was already the boss of everyone when he first walked in the door, can think like this. How amazing. This is what Strex does now, how it makes them think. He resumes toying with the bloodied skin on his hand. "Maybe that's why they wouldn't let me work," he shrugs. "I never liked the idea of being nobody. I'm a person and the things that I do matter, even if it's only small. I was a number, yes, but I have a name too. So do you. Do you even remember your name?"

"They don't take away what we know. They just make it not matter anymore. Yes. I remember my name. My childhood. My upbringing. But that's my information alone, things meant for the past. Not unimportant." He flexes his hand, watching the blood run in rivulets, staining the sheet below. "We're matryoshka. The nesting dolls. If you forget what's inside, you become more and more of your outer layers."

Lucky closes his eyes, "I can remember many things of my childhood, and how they made me feel. I remember learning "right" from "wrong". I remember crossing those lines." He does not feel as if he has said too much because, "You know I am not a good man. You know that without Strex. I have performed my own... wrongs. My position makes my habits easy. My job makes my pleasures convenient. It makes many things willingly available to me. Opens doors."

"I should say there is a distinct difference between pleasure and honor. Humans value their honor, but they cannot live without pleasure. They would die without it."

Then, a smile. "When I walk into work tomorrow morning and act no differently than usual, teasing, joking, smirking... you will no longer feel so lighthearted. The part of you that perhaps flutters a bit will stay grounded. Your blood will slow in its arteries. You will wonder what mask is real. How many do I have. How intricately carved."

Lucky closes his eyes, "And in this moment... you wonder whether you'd be safer, better off killing me. And then a new thought. No. of course not. He's just a mindless worker bee busy convincing himself he's cracked the system. Wait for him to die. You don't mind the blood on your hands, not on a "bad" day. But. You'd rather not kill me yourself."

Miller is frozen by the end of Lucky's rambling speech. The sun, not quite the same as the one decorating Strexcorp's logo, is finished, bloody, and all but forgotten. It's like listening to a self-aware robot describe its existence. While it's interesting to hear and think through it with him, he wants it to stop. It is against the rules. Against the laws that he has known his entire life. He's reminded of Gabriel for an instant, the one he knew towards the end of their time together. Too aware. Too dark. Too different from the smiling face he knew during the day. A realization dawns on him again, ten years after it set itself away.

There's still another level to find.

Any part of him with any sense knows that he should turn away and pray he never finds it.

"We're done for now."

"I know." Lucky sits up. He admires his hand, "A sun. How fitting." He looks towards Miller, "You have fear in your eyes, friend." He stands from the bed. Blood that was pooling on his prone skin cascades down, cutting his torso into sections as it tumbles down his naked body.  "It doesn't mean that we can't fuck," he tells him. Oddly, the words are somewhat emotionless. He can't care enough to summon some sort of sass? He sits next to Miller. Smiles. Honesty bleeds in. Some sort of foreign warmth. Knowing. "You don't trust me anymore though, so. That's out the window. A real shame. A real shame." He strokes his fingers along his cheek, "My name is Carthage. Named for the Carthaginian Empire. The city, Carthage. The Greeks tried to destroy Rome. They fought. They clashed. Carthage signed contracts in the beginning. Carthage picked up the mangled corpses of cities crushed in a warpath and claimed the carcasses.

"It didn't last, of course." He continued, "After all... Rome got excited. Greece wasn't happy. And all great civilizations fall." He stands again. Calmly offers his hand so Miller can also. "I expect no more from myself."

"But... Carthage didn't start as an Empire. In fact... it rebelled from the Phoencians. Gained independence. Then grew stronger... became an Empire, for a time." He smiles, and his eyes dull, "You know my name, though. If you didn't before... you looked it up after I said you were 08. You wanted your revenge, your payback. Mine for yours, and Miller... this is where you and I are different. I know my pleasures. I know my honor. You're still trying to change yours. And the luxury of a name, one that you can whisper to yourself at night and cling onto your humanity...well...."

He takes a step back, "Can you imagine me doing it? Wrapping up in a sheet, eyes shut and tears leaking, telling myself that my name is Carthage, that 13 is not, cannot, be who I am? That I do not belong to this world," he does not say Strex, it doesn't work like that, "that I, truly, am some individual? master of my own self? That I am Carthage, Carthage, Carthage?"

He looks into Miller's eyes, until he can barely stand the mere depth of them.  "Look at your petty honor," he whispers.

 To say that Miller is scared would be an understatement. He's terrified of this person in front of him. The underside of his neck feels cold with panic. For the first time that he can remember, he lets the near-insult go without comment. Everything is on autopilot. Now he's dancing on his own sheet of ice, but nobody had told him what lies below.

"You're wrong," he says evenly. His voice is not his own, it's the voice of the Agent that lived in him all those years ago. He didn't cry in his cot and remind himself that he was not a number. Just like all of the best, he became that number. His life can be marked by names and numbers. Brandon when he was a child. Danny when he was a teen. It was a good laugh for a few years. 08 for a good few years, years marked by trials and the last friendships he ever knew. Oh-eight, or even just Eight. As much a name as the rest.

Miller came after that, once he accepted that his number was as much his as an Agent's life. Miller was the one who discovered that he didn't have to drink much to be flat on his ass and the one who realized that drinking until he passed out wouldn't help anything. Miller came once everyone knew him well enough to stop with the Mr. Miller shit. Now Miller is just another person.

08's words are coming out of Miller's mouth.

 

"You're wrong," he repeats, shaking his head. "I always knew your name. I was there on the day that you became a number." Freya never became her number, she owned it. The same can not be said for Lucky. 13 owns Carthage, a name with more meaning in its origin than its definition. "It was a card to play, I admit that, but I never anticipated using it to win."

08 turns the body that isn't his and reaches down to retrieve clothes that he would never wear.

"It is true that I don't trust you, but I'm not sure what makes you think I ever did. There is a difference between trust and simply lowering your guard because you don't care enough to keep it up." The clothes are put back on quickly and neatly, tie straightened and shirt tucked in. "No, we aren't going to fuck tonight. It has nothing to do with trust. It has everything to do with the fact that I'm simply no longer in the mood."

"Where is your first aid kit, 13?"

"I can clean myself." It's in the pantry. "I'll see you at work tomorrow. Go get some rest. Do I still get to pat your ass and tease you, or will you flinch away? Vanessa will be upset, and 67 too." 67, the corpse he rather enjoyed fucking. Was It bad to call her a corpse? Ex-corpse, perhaps.

He wants towards him, puts his arms around Miller's neck, the bloody sun prevalent, drops sliding down his fingers, dripping onto Miller's shirt, "Is this a game? Is this a challenge?" He kisses him, and he knows he won't kiss back. Miller's lips are near-cold, and useless, the blood drained from his face. "Maybe the problem is that it isn't."

Lucky is not a thing to fix. He's not a game to be won or a trophy collected. Everyone else is. Everyone else can be persuaded. Everyone else can be fucked, everyone else can fuck him, but it doesn’t _mean_ anything to him.

He strokes Miller's cheek and leaves an incriminating streak of blood on him before stepping away. "Goodnight."

 Miller won't flinch. When - if - Lucky decides to flirt and tease, he will joke back. There will be no promises in it, but there will be no tension in it either. They will surely fuck again. This night will be forgotten on the surface, but like the dolls that Lucky likened them to, it will remain a few layers down. Miller doesn't kiss him back, but he couldn't say why if someone asked him. It wasn't as if he didn't want to.

As he walks home, he regrets missing that chance.

As he enters his apartment, he wonders how Lucky will manage to bandage himself with one hand.

As he strips down, he hopes that the cuts scar.

As his eyes close, he think that maybe he needs to step back.

As he drifts off to sleep, he realizes that it isn't a choice anymore.

 


End file.
